


Let Them Talk

by inkandwords



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, atsu fics, happy birthday arrie!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandwords/pseuds/inkandwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A disagreement about Kise’s fanbase and career choices leads to some rough play and an unexpected outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Them Talk

**Author's Note:**

> My adorkable kouhai [@arriechin](http://arriechin.tumblr.com) requested some angry, filthy AoKise pwp action and who am I to say no? 
> 
> Happy birthday, Arriene! I’m sorry I suck and this is so late. Forgive me, ily. ♡

The elevator doors barely open before Aomine lurches over the threshold, Kise’s shoulder purposely jabbing into him as he storms past. He’d never seen this side of Kise before -- angry, irrational, fiery in a way that makes Aomine grind his teeth in frustration. 

He follows behind, scowling and rubbing his injured arm before he rotates it and shakes it off. Kise is stronger than Aomine gives him credit for, but even Aomine’s momentary awe isn’t enough to keep a lid on his own temper.

“I don’t get why you’re stomping around like a fucking five year old,” he snaps when he finally catches up. 

Kise stands in front of his apartment door, hands shaking as he attempts to unlock the deadbolt. After the third try, he fumbles with the key and drops it. Outraged, he slams his hand against the door before giving the solid pine a few good kicks with the heel of his foot. “Stupid door,” he mutters, picking up the key and finally managing to wrangle it open. He ignores Aomine’s snide comment and rushes inside the apartment, apparently intent on putting as much distance between them as possible. “Why the hell are you even here?”

Aomine’s eyebrow spikes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Are you deaf or dumb? Did I  _stutter_ , Aominecchi?” 

There’s a malice in Kise’s voice, one that Aomine doesn’t know how to temper. Not that he’d try anyway. Kise is the one that’s jumping to conclusions, the one that should be apologizing instead of making him out to be the bad guy. 

“You’re the one letting some guy put his fucking hands on you. Apparently, I’m also blind if you think I didn’t see that shit.”

Kise snorts. “You’re kidding, right? That girl at the snack table practically orgasmed every time you gave her that stupid smirk.”

“I was just making conversation. You’re the one that looked like you were ready to bust a nut.” Aomine kicks the leg of the coffee table, the furniture loudly scraping across the hardwood floor. “Didn’t realize you were doing soft core porn now, Model-chan.”

That comment did it. 

Before he realizes what’s happening, Kise surges forward and shoves him hard enough that Aomine staggers and nearly loses his footing. “Take it back,” Kise snaps, fists balled at his sides. 

Aomine deadpans and glares at him, stubborn and willful and too pissed off to care that he just insulted Kise and his line of work. “No.”

Again, Kise’s palms make contact with Aomine’s chest and this time, Aomine gasps from the force of the blow. “I said  _take it back_.”

Barely managing to keep his bearings, Aomine stands his ground. Kise’s reaction fuels his growing agitation as a growl rises from the back of his throat. However quickly Kise had moved before is no match when it comes to Aomine’s speed. The wall makes contact with Kise’s back, the forceful blow causing him to gasp when Aomine boxes him in. 

“What the fuck’s your problem?” he asks, grabbing Kise’s hands and pinning them above his head to keep him from coming at Aomine again. 

Lifting his gaze, Kise's eyes narrow as he sneers, “You. You’re my fucking problem. Get off of me, Aominecchi.”

Aomine keeps his hold firm and leaves Kise little wriggle room just in case he gets any ideas. Before Aomine realizes what’s happened, Kise’s knee makes contact with his groin; not hard enough to render him incapacitated, but enough for him to grit his teeth as searing pain shoots up from the offended area and jolts through the rest of his body. He releases his hold and stumbles back, glaring. “Did you seriously just...?”

“Damn straight, I did. Serves you right for getting in my face.”

“Didn’t see you having a problem with that when it was the half naked guy getting all up in your face and then some.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be there!” Kise lashes out. He grabs the tabloid magazine off the coffee table and flings it at Aomine, who easily deflects it. “What’s the matter? Did your little gold digging girlfriend ditch you?”

A retort dies at the tip of his tongue as Aomine snatches the magazine from the floor and glances at the cover, confused by Kise’s errant comment. An incredulous snort escapes. “You jealous? Is that what all this shit’s been about?” Crumpling the magazine in his hand, his grip tightens, voice barely tempered. He takes a step toward Kise and then another until Kise nearly trips on the rug before knocking into the wall with a loud  _thump_. 

The magazine drops and a second later, Aomine’s fist drives into the plaster, cracks spidering out from the impact just a few inches from Kise’s face. “Remind me again who didn’t wanna make this shit public? Oh right, that was you. I get it, all right? I’m not good enough for anyone to know we’re hookin’ up, but some random b-cup starts talkin’ to me and  _now_  you wanna get territorial.” 

Kise’s expression steels. “Enjoy the view?”

Aomine’s hands clamp around Kise’s neck, thumb roughly grazing the pale skin as Kise’s Adam’s apple bobs nervously. “This is nothin’ compared to half the crap I gotta read about you and whoever the hell the tabloids think you’re hookin’ up with this week.” 

“You know I’m yours,” Kise says, rolling his eyes. “Grow up. You’re being dumb.”

Aomine releases him and turns to leave, but not before he glances back with a scoff. “Yeah. I’m dumb, all right. Remember... you do, I do. That’s the deal, right? Who knows?” he says with a shrug, all smirks and nonchalance, and walks toward the front door. “Might just start believing in all the tabloid shit about you. Pretty convincing stuff.” Then he mutters under his breath, snorting, “Mine? What a joke. Fuck this.”

He doesn’t make it past the credenza that lines the foyer. Before his brain can catch up, Kise is kissing him hard,  _rough_ , a mix of tongue and teeth and bruising lips until it’s Aomine who’s cornered into the wall like an animal fending off a feral attack.

Hands are in his hair, skimming his throat, clawing at his back over the cotton t-shirt Aomine is wearing. It seems Kise is intent on getting his frustrations out another way, harshly tugging Aomine’s bottom lip with his teeth before he bites just hard enough to elicit a growl. He rams his tongue down Aomine’s throat, the sound of belt buckles tinkling before Kise curls a finger and traces along the waistband of Aomine’s track pants. 

“Wait,” Aomine says, reeling back and completely out of breath. “What the hell are you d--”

“Stop talking,” Kise says, kissing him again to make sure Aomine complies. He rucks up Aomine’s shirt and without warning, dips his hand into Aomine’s boxer briefs, stroking him to life. 

Aomine responds with a groan, hips gravitating toward Kise as he seeks more friction. Kise’s fingers are warm, less calloused than Aomine’s, and even though Aomine is still pissed off, it feels too good to stop him. It’s not long before there’s a tent pitching where Kise continues to work Aomine until he’s resting his forehead against Kise’s shoulder to ground himself. 

His hand fumbles with Kise’s pants button and when he finally manages to get it undone, Kise lets out a small whimper that makes Aomine’s cock twitch. A second later, his own hand slips under Kise’s boxers and squeezes the round of his ass enough to elicit an encouraging moan and a roll of Kise’s hips toward him. He continues further, sliding his middle finger between Kise’s cheeks and slowly tracing the pucker. He teases for longer than is probably necessary with the way Kise bucks his ass back as if to say ‘ _what are you waiting for?_ ’, but his brain is close to short circuiting with how Kise presses into him - needy,  _encouraging_  - hand still wound around his erection, whispering filth into his ear.

Despite thinking that this shouldn’t be the only way to resolve whatever tension they have, he gives in and grabs the lubricant from the hidden drawer of the end table. Denying himself is definitely not going to happen, no matter how pissed off he is about everything else and fuck it if Kise is the only one getting some satisfaction before the night’s over. He manages to slick the lubricant over his fingers and inches through the barrier to the tune of Kise’s hissed breath. He tests the elasticity before adding a second finger at Kise’s murmured insistence, the third following after minute to stretch him out, to prepare. 

Soon enough, Kise’s steady rhythm around his cock staggers when Aomine’s pace quickens, fingers slick with more than just lubricant as he finger-fucks Kise into a stupor. Kise shudders against him, all the while trying to get Aomine in deeper, his ass lifting just enough to grant more access.

“Turn around,” Aomine demands, giving in to the anger, Kise’s hand yanked out of his pants as Aomine forces him toward the couch with his mouth working up Kise’s neck in bruising kisses. Their shirts end up on the floor in haphazard piles, pants and undergarments thrown after them, but as Aomine attempts to maneuver Kise into the position he wants, Kise switches it up and shoves him hard enough that his calves hit the edge of the couch, sending him toppling.

Kise straddles his lap and pins both of Aomine’s hands behind his head. His grip is stronger than Aomine anticipates and he’s about to push him off when a hand clamps over his throat, Kise’s face inches from his with a sneer plastered there, smug and devilish. 

“Say it,” Kise snaps, tone biting and furious as he takes Aomine’s bottom lip in between his teeth and tugs again. His fingertips burn against Aomine’s throat, pinpricks igniting where Kise’s hold tightens just enough to make Aomine gasp. “I want you to say it, Aominecchi.”

Aomine pins him with an indignant glare despite the fire in his lungs. “You... first...  _princess_...”

With a sharp roll of his hips, Kise’s cock ruts against Aomine’s painfully obvious erection, amber eyes calculating. Another second and Kise leans in, teeth scoring along Aomine’s earlobe, and pauses. Purposeful. Teasing. All devil and whispers. “...Daiki.”

The sound goes straight to Aomine’s cock and he bites the corner of his lip, air hitching where Kise’s fingers press hard enough to bruise, to mark his territory. It’s constricting, the depravity. But it only turns him on even more. “Mine,” he rasps.

“Say it again,” Kise prompts, silk and temptation against Aomine’s ear. “I wanna hear you say it again, Daiki.”

Specs of white dot his vision and Aomine moans, low and hoarse and  _wanting_ , as Kise slowly, painstakingly lowers himself until Aomine fills him. “Mine. Oh god, oh shit,” Aomine murmurs brokenly when Kise begins to move, hips rising to meet the curve of Kise’s ass. Automatic. “Fuck,” he grinds out. And then breathes, “ _mine_ ” with no trace of doubt.

Kise’s hips undulate, achingly slow, building Aomine up to that point where he’s prone to beg, but not quite. Not just yet. It makes Aomine’s irritation come back in full force that Kise is trying to bait him, to control his reactions, to gain the upper hand. He breaks from Kise’s hold, hands planting firmly into the pliant curve of Kise’s ass as he ups the pace. He digs his heels into the hardwood for leverage, hips driving upward in rough propulsions with renewed fervor. A grunt escapes with each thrust, his fingers sinking as he tightens his grip and breaths fragmented exhales staggered between Kise’s broken moans. He lifts Kise up a fraction and angles just enough to hit that spot that makes Kise unravel, that makes him come undone and whimpering Aomine’s name into his ear in his desperate chase for release.

Not even when Kise stills, his calves clamping against Aomine’s thighs and head dipping back in the wake of his orgasm, does he slow his pace. Aomine is too far gone, too into the moment that his body keeps the rhythm even as his mind blanks when he nears the brink. His core tightens, twists and winds so tightly he trembles from the anticipation, and then--

“Ahhh...I’m gonna-- oh fuck, oh f--,” each word as broken and harried as the thrusts wrecking Kise into another orgasm and painting Aomine’s chest a splattered white for the second time. With a final grunted roll of his hips, Aomine exhales, sharp and dizzying, and throws his head back against the couch - spent, exhausted, but completely euphoric, much to his chagrin. “Shit, what the hell...”

They’re both silent for a moment, save for the breathless panting as they try to come down from the high. 

“I didn’t touch her,” Aomine says. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to address the magazine picture Kise had thrown at him earlier especially with Kise still naked and sticky with sweat on top of him, but he does. “I wanted to piss you off when I saw the pictures of you with one of those new models you were working with, so I went to lunch with her for the hell of it. She tried to come at me and I tried to dodge, but guess those reporters got a different picture.”

“Now you know how it feels.”

“Yeah, but can ya blame me? I’m good enough for you when we’re holed up at your place, good enough when you need a good fuck--”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re a  _great_  fuck.”

Aomine chuckles, the sound somewhat defeated. “Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.”

Suddenly, Kise’s lips brush against his and Aomine feels the weight of him leave. “Get dressed, Aominecchi,” Kise murmurs against his ear, “we’re getting food.”

Aomine’s eyes remain closed and he mutters, more than a little incredulous, “in public? Is it my birthday or something?”

Smacking Aomine’s leg, Kise grabs his arm and forcefully yanks him up. “Yes, in public, smartass. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

* * *

 

A short while later, they’re sitting outside one of the trendier restaurants downtown, dinner plates empty and desserts half eaten in front of them. A large crowd of photographers lurk nearby, snapping pictures and occasionally calling out Kise’s name to get him to turn toward the cameras in vain. 

Kise ignores them all, his focus entirely on Aomine and the bullshit conversation he seems adamant on having despite the modicum of tension that still hangs between them. When they start calling Aomine’s name as well, it’s the last straw. Kise may be able to shove the attention aside, to pretend that this is just one of the dozens of encounters he has with various rumored relationships, but Aomine can’t. 

He won’t. 

“You can stay and finish whatever that cheesecake thing is, but I’m gonna go,” he starts, pushing his chair back so he can stand. 

“Wait,” Kise says, reaching for his hand. The flashes from the cameras intensify when his hand remains where it is and Aomine raises a brow questioningly, eyeballing Kise when he interlocks their fingers together. “Stay, Aominecchi. Please? I’m almost done, I promise.”

With a sigh, Aomine concedes, wondering what the hell is going through Kise’s head and all the while staring at their hands like it was something foreign, something out of place. They’re holding hands. In public. Kise never holds his hand where other people could see and definitely not in a place so open. 

When he retracts his hand, the errant thought making something in his chest tighten, the hurt that flashes in Kise’s eyes is unmistakable. It makes the ache harder to take and feeds the guilt that churns in his gut.

_Kise’s the one that wanted to keep it between us_ , he reminds himself. 

It seems like the photographers and reporters know just when to dive in because as soon as Kise takes the last bite, they start throwing questions out before he’s gotten the chance to stand. Aomine follows suit and trails behind Kise on their way out to the parking lot, fully intent on ducking out like he always does whenever he’s out anywhere with the paparazzi’s golden boy. 

But this time, he doesn’t get a chance. Kise’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together again and holding on tight when Aomine makes to walk away. 

_“Kise-san! Is that another one of your conquests? Are the rumors true?”  
_

_“Another addition to your long list?”  
_

_“What number is Aomine Daiki, Kise-san?”_

Kise keeps walking, towing a bewildered Aomine along next to him as the relentless reporters continue their hounding. Then he dips his head toward them just the slightest bit. “One,” he tells them with a gracious laugh, clear and true. “He’s always been the only one.” 

Then he turns to Aomine and steals a kiss, igniting the already frenzied crowd, their flashbulbs bright enough to blind. When Kise gives them his attention for the last time, he puts a finger to his lips and winks, all mischief and mock secrecy, his grip on Aomine’s hand steady and sure when they finally make it into the backseat of the waiting car. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Aomine starts, his hand sweeping over the top of his head, worry building. “That’s gonna be all over the tabloids tomorrow. People are gonna talk.”

“Don’t care,” Kise counters, shaking his head and cradling Aomine’s face with both hands before he seals the deal. The kiss between them is electric, doubtless, erasing any questions Aomine has about where they stand. “Let them talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ [limitlessmonster](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com). :D


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